Just Enough

During a bike fitting many years ago, the fitter quizzed me about my riding style and habits. “You need to ride during the week, too; otherwise you're essentially starting over every weekend.”

I miss my occasional bike commutes, and I've gotten lazy. Why get up early, pull myself together and ride before my workday begins—when I can just step into my office after breakfast?

Why? Well, because otherwise I'm essentially starting over every weekend.

The days are getting longer, why not hop on the bike at the end of the workday?

Despite good intentions, I got a later start than I'd wanted. How far could I ride? I set a goal. [I think I can, I think I can ...]

I rode at a brisk pace; although it had been a warm day, it was cooling fast (as soon as the sun dipped below the nearest ridge). I'd misjudged the temperature as well as the distance (27 miles, a flat 460 feet of climbing); a comfortable test of my recent repair work (no mishaps).

There were no visible stars overhead when I finished—so technically, it wasn't dark.

But ... oops, the moon was rather bright ...

Holey Spokes, Batman!

And now a few words about rim tape.

When last we left our heroine, she had safely completed her ride and traced the source of her flat tire to a gash in the side of the tube that faces the rim.

Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Where the tape should have safely covered a spoke hole, there was instead a jagged tear. The tube, regularly inflated to a high pressure, had evidently pushed the tape into the hole and eventually ripped it open.

I must admit, I have never given rim tape a second thought. Or a first thought, honestly. Its job is to protect the tube by covering the holes in the rim through which the spokes are inserted; once it's in place, it never occurred to me that it could fail. But, fail it did.

Here's a view from the flip side. We can see a slight dimple from the pressure of the tube having pushed the tape into the hole. The tape was similarly dimpled at every spoke hole, though only one had given way.

The wheel in question is a stock Mavic wheel, fitted with their stiff, woven plastic-y tape. (Or I should say, had been fitted.)

A little research and a couple of helpful YouTube videos later, I picked up two rolls of classic Velox tape at a local bike shop, removed the original tape, wiped the rims with rubbing alcohol, and applied the new tape.

Two rolls, you say? Yessiree, two rolls. One for each wheel. You didn't think I was going to risk a repeat performance on the rear wheel, did you?

And, um, if you haven't inspected the tape on your rims lately (or, ever), you might want to have a look-see.

Pffffft!

The Almaden Reservoir was not filled with chocolate, much as it might appear.

It's been a week since we last saw rain, but the muddy runoff hadn't yet settled out.

A friendly trio of fisherman waved goodbye as they drove off. They'd caught only one fish, a two-and-a-half pounder. Catch-and-release, it's strictly for sport—the fish are contaminated with mercury, a legacy of the New Almaden quicksilver mines.

My guardian angel was watching over me today. Two (downhill) miles from the end of our ride, I stopped to wait for my cycling buddy and parked my bike against the curb. Moments later there was an explosive hiss ... and my front tire was, instantaneously, flat. Had I not stopped there, then, I would almost certainly have crashed (descending at speed), the metal rim sliding out on the pavement.

This is the stuff of nightmares.

An earthly angel soon appeared in an SUV, a mountain biker heading for the nearby trail. He pulled out a full-sized floor pump, generously waited for me to replace my tube, and made short work of inflating it.

I had been puzzled not to find anything stuck in the tire, nor any obvious puncture in the tube. I imagined that the removable valve core had loosened; a small puncture would have leaked slowly. [I should know better.] Always take the time to find the cause.

Always.

I descended cautiously, tenatively. And luckily, my guardian angel was still watching over me. Because, when I did trouble myself to pump some air into that tube, certain I would confirm my hunch ... the air rushed out of a gash on the rim side of the tube. Despite having run my fingers over the rim after removing the tube, I had not felt a problem.

We were happy to ride 29 miles, climbing 1,820 feet, on another warm winter day. But above all, I'm grateful that I will get to ride another day. [After I attend to that wheel.]

Bonus Ride

How could I not ride, on one last warm January day? [Let me count the ways.]

A car to get smog tested, yard work to be done ...

How could I ride? [Finish those chores by early afternoon.]

I headed through the same neighborhoods, past the deflated Santas and Christmas trees kicked to the curb, for a total of 28 miles and 500 feet of climbing.

The painted miniatures, still in place yesterday, were mostly gone today. Only the Ship, and Smile, remained.

I paused for another bit of whimsy: A little, hand-carved black bear clinging to a tree branch. A pink heart with a message on both sides.

Hang in There

Stay Safe

Time to Climb

Despite being off the bike for two weeks, yesterday's outing didn't exact a toll. Today I'd trade the heavy commute bike for my road bike and climb Bernal.

I peered out my window, and ... there, smack in the middle of my birdbath, sat a bird!

Big deal, you're thinking; that's why it's there. But despite keeping it fresh, until recently I'd never seen evidence that any bird took advantage of it—when I saw a Spotted Towhee perch on the edge and take a sip.

Feathers fluffed out, this Dark-eyed Junco preened, and sat. I watched for a while; he was in no hurry to move on, giving me ample time to pull out my camera. Now and then, after warily surveying the surroundings, he'd spread his wings, dunk his head, and go all in.

I went all in, too; all the way to the summit of Bernal Road. I was puzzled when a pickup truck continued past the public turn-around point, near the top. On a weekend, and especially now, I would not expect an IBM employee to be heading through the gate onto their campus.

Sure enough, the pickup soon returned.

By the time I started my descent, not one but two more vehicles made the same trip. You do need to pass a written test to get a license, so I expect the drivers could read the posted warning signs. The third one seemed particularly flummoxed; if you don't have the skills to read the signs, perhaps your skills for executing a u-turn on an incline are similarly challenged?

It was another glorious, unseasonably warm day. Climbing Shannon and Bernal added up to 1,300 feet, over 29 miles. My legs insisted on taking a flat route, back.

Little Things

Evidently today was Car Wash Day. I didn't get the memo, so I went for a bicycle ride instead. How could I not, with temperatures in the mid-70s—in January?!

The extra canopy in the parking lot of the local hospital we passed last week, for arriving ambulances, was a sobering reminder of our stressed medical infrastructure. This is not the time to need help on the road, and not the time to risk an incident that would warrant medical care. I can enjoy a nice day pedaling through low-traffic neighborhoods; for now, my focus is more on exercise than scenery.

I made my way to the base of Bernal Road, where a line of hikers was snaking single-file up a trail. I paused to capture a photo and was foiled by the angle of the sun. I continued a bit farther, into a shady spot, but the moment was lost. This was my planned turn-around point; as I pulled out my snack I noticed something tucked against the fencepost. I frowned, thinking someone had left a crumpled wrapper. But, it was not that.

There were similar splashes of color on the other nearby posts. Each was a unique work of art, painted on carefully-chosen rocks.

Who would ever notice these? This stretch of fence was not near the trailhead. I've seen a few people walking down the road, from the park; some of us pass by on our bikes, but most visitors are sealed up in their cars.

That might explain why these little gems were still on display (though one post was conspicuously bare). Or maybe the artist intends for admirers to pocket them?

One rock was out of place, on top of its post. Its face was blank, but surely it was part of this collection.

I flipped it over and restored it to is rightful spot. And, smile I did.

Along with my exercise (28 miles, 460 feet of climbing), I was renewed with an unexpected, simple dose of joy.

A Fresh Start

One local tradition for today is to climb Mt. Hamilton, and I'm sure there were cyclists who did.

We were not among them. (Too cold.)

Seeking a long ride and as much warmth as a weak winter sun might offer, my chief cycling buddy agreed to the route I proposed.

Even an ordinary route can be interesting, no? I led us across five bike/pedestrian bridges above five different  freeways, passing through eight different municipalities along the way. Not bad for 43 miles (and 960 feet of climbing).

Happy New Year!